Le Morte-200th Hunger Games
by Pandaparada
Summary: When Head Gamemaker, Yvonne decided to welcome the Tributes into her supernatural world and the President has a complicated agenda, it can only spell pain for this year's Tributes. Split into groups of six, with up to twelve possible victors, the chance of victory is high. The question is, will any of them want the prize or will they wish they were part of the dead? SYOT OPEN
1. The Fool

" _The Fool represents new beginnings, having faith in the future, being inexperienced, not knowing what to expect, having beginner's luck, improvisation and believing in the universe."_

* * *

"Teams?," the words rolled off Argentille's tongue in a jagged manner, causing her to wince. "At least the idea sounds interesting."

"You want to put the Tributes into teams?" Corheran, her elder brother said through a cloud of smoke released from his purple lips. He allowed the smelly particles to curl around his head. "Won't that take the fun out of it?"

Their father, President Adelbrit smiled, his Botox filled cheeks struggling to stretch. "Not at all, this is more about surviving the Arena itself than each other. To show that even when as a force, they are no match for the Capitol." However, his children didn't seem convinced.

Corheran cocked his head to the side, taking another drag of his cigarette. "Is there more than one victor then?"

"Yes. If all the members from a team are the last ones standing, they all get to live and win."

Curheran clicked his tongue in a thoughtful manner, his pink eyes moving from his cigarette to his father. "How many teams will there be?"

His father's gold eyes shimmered with excitement as he leaned forward, gripping his marble wine glass with care. "Four teams of six...two girl groups and two boy groups-"

"What, so there could be twelve victors?" Argentille interrupted, her black, matte nails running through her wavy, platinum blonde hair. "Would there be any point of a Game at all?"

"It is highly unlikely that all six members in a team will survive with what we have planned. There will be four victors if they are lucky." He grabbed for his wine glass once more, the red glow in his cheeks starting to become more visible.

The pair of siblings looked at him with confusion, trying to make sense of it all. In the end, it was Corheran who spoke first, by far the smartest of the two. Although his little sister was smart in her own way.

"So one group of boys and one group of girls will win I assume?" He asked, cocking his head to the side.

Adelbrit smiled. "Yes, my boy, well done."

He watched as his children's expression became grim like the life had been sucked out of them. The many thoughts of why their father would want so many possible victors and at least one male and female causing them to shiver.

"But why the difference in gender, why not just mix them up?" Agentille asked, her voice cracking.

"The lowest age will be fifteen," their father rambled, answering the question no one asked. "They will be chosen carefully too." These words were enough for Agentille, they were split because their father said so, no further questions on the matter of gender would be answered.

"They will not meet the other teams until the start of the Games, They will be completely in the dark. However, they will at least meet their teams on their first day of training then continue to live together in a small, Tribute flat." The children fell silent, not understanding their father's plan but also knowing that his secrets. Until Corheren spoke up.

"What involvement do we have, then?"

The President signed, waving his hand in the air like it was a foolish Question. "You will look after both teams. Corheren for the girls, Agentille for the boys so you will be their lifeline in the Games, not their mentors. Feel free to show bias."

* * *

Agentille sat perched on the edge of her Queen sized bed, the soft, red silk against her bare skin rather comforting. She ran her hand against the embroidered tulips that climbed up the sheets, ending at the fur trim at the top of the bed. She traced one of the flower's petals with her index finger, closing her eyes as she tried to feel every thread against her skin. Then she opened her eyes once more.

She lowered her square shaped face and focused her unnatural green eyes on the reflection in front of her. She took her hands and placed them against her shins as she looked at her naked form. She was a pretty girl by Capitol standards with her silky blonde hair, porcelain skin and natural, hourglass figure. For an eighteen-year-old, she was well formed but that did little to calm her nerves.

See, it was not her looks that riddled her with insecurity over herself, it was her personality. Aside from her lack of social skills and anxiety, she also came with a needy, dependent longed for the confidence her brother had.

That was another problem that led Agentille to dislike herself, the constant comparison she made to the people around her. No matter what stylist worked on her, she always felt empty and unwanted.

"Miss Snow, your brother wishes to talk with you," an unknown stocky bodyguard said. She looked at his reflection, the brown tufts of hair and bright purple eyes that were visible from under his helmet, he was about her brother's age but she took pride in knowing who would win in a fight.

"Send him in in five minutes," Agentille sighed, pushing herself up from her bed and shuffling against her soft carpet, over to her set of drawers. She hunted through her nightwear until she found a silk nightgown that resembled that of a evening dress and slipped it over her shoulders.

The fabric had just touched the carpet when the oak door to her room creaked open, the bodyguard escorting Corheren in.

Agentille turned to face her brother, a defeated smile on her lips. Once they came to a stop, the dark haired boy looked over his shoulder at the bodyguard and frowned. "Who are you?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

The man stood straight. "Havelock, sir," he said with a loud, commanding voice. Corheren gave an understanding nod. He opened his mouth to speak more when Agentille cut in.

"Father is up to something...isn't he," the girl sighed, looking up at her taller, older brother with hopeful eyes. The boy gave a nod, causing his sister to sit back down on the bed in defeat.

"Something just seems off. This isn't just about the twist, it is about something more."

"I think the theme for this years Arena is nothing like before...something risky," Agentille sighed, her eyes focused on her twiddling thumbs.

Corheren ran his hand through his overgrown, white hair and sighed as he looked over to his sister. "Yeah-"

"But why get us involved?" the girl asked, her eyebrows knotting.

Corheren thought for a moment, before, with a shiver, spoke his thoughts on the matter.

"Father wants one of us to succeed him...what better way to see who is up for the job than making us control a group of District borns, getting attached and watching them die?" His looked into his sister's eyes, his voice shaking. "I think this year is a contest between us rather than them."

* * *

 **Hey, thank you for tuning into my story! Here is the rundown on the twist.**

 **Twenty-four Tributes have been chosen (12 male and 12 female). Upon arrival, they will be split from their District partner and placed into groups of six with the same gender. Four groups, two for each gender. They will not have mentors and will instead be mentored by the President's children Corheren and Agentille (Corheren with the girls, Agentille with the guys). They will stay in the six-person apartment instead of their suits and they will not meet anyone outside of their group (aside from District Partner) until the start of the Games. If a team is the last team standing from their gender, everyone will win. There will be two teams winning from each gender. HOWEVER, although there is the chance for twelve victors like it was stated in the story, there is unlikely to be more than Four. This is because the Arena is the enemy this time, rather than the Tributes themselves. Teamwork is what gets them to the end.**

 **I will decide the groups by random before the characters are introduced. This makes it more interesting and takes away the chance there might be a super skilled group against a weaker one. Everything is fair.**

 **These Tributes will be the best their District has to offer, the President has hand chosen them. This means there will not be any criminals or people who are on death's door.**

 **The youngest Tribute will be fifteen.**

 **It is first to come first served but I can turn down any character if I do not think they are a serious submission (like a prank one).**

 **NO MORE THAN ONE CHARACTER SUBMISSION UNLESS I SAY OTHERWISE. I've seen some people take up like seven spots. I will note in future chapters if you can submit more.**

 **Two day holding time for a spot. I get annoyed when spots are reserved by people who then halt the story by never submitting.**

 **Paired characters are all fine and dandy but it does not mean they will placed in the same group. In fact, the more connected they are, the more likely I am to place them in separate groups to cause drama.**

 **Reminder: This is my hobby, this is what I decide to do, taking time out of my own life. We all sacrifice time for this story (reviewing, submitting, writing, planning) and none of us are getting paid. So just have fun. I will update often, but not every week. If I want to write my story a certain way, that is how I will do it. If I choose a certain victor or write a storyline you do not like, please keep the fact that I am doing this for fun in your mind.**

 **This also goes for people who start hate campaigns against characters, cheat in voting systems (I'll have a few in this story) or act jerkish because they are a bigger submitter than most other people. We are here for fun. Someone creates a character you don't like, you are allowed your own thoughts. Write campaigns to why they should die? Just go. You are no different or better than anyone here.**

 **Don't take the story too seriously or the characters. I don't wish to be a writer (maybe one day but for now, no), I don't class myself as the SYOT Queen. I'm just a lass who likes the Hunger Games, writing a SYOT in my own time because I just need some fun in my life. Please try and understand that.**

 **Form is on my profile, as well as the Tribute list. Thank you for reading.**


	2. The Magician

" _When the Magician appears in a spread, it points to the talents, capabilities, and resources at the querent's disposal to succeed."_

* * *

The blind woman brushed her fingertips against the purple cards in front of her, her head moving side to side in an unheard rhythm. Her murky white eyes shook in their sockets like voltage surged through her body as she pulled free a card and slammed it in front of the Gamemaker, startling the woman.

With a yelp, Yvonne Gaius regained her composure and looked at the card before her. A rather gruesome image of a young girl with her eyes and mouth wired shut. She road two undead horses that skellington features seemed to crawl out of the image. _What does it mean?_

"The chariot, crossroads, confusion-" the woman leaned forward, gripping Yvonne's slender face between her fingers. "The inability to move on, stuck in the driver's seat with little control, the false idea that you can decide your own destiny."

The Gamemakers mouth hung agar for a moment before she quickly pulled herself together, a smirk forming on her lips. She looked at the card again and shook her head. With one swift movement, she grabbed the money that lay by the woman's hand and rose to her feet.

"Of course a Gamemaker does not have much control, you really did you research on that, didn't you?" she sighed as she pushed her chair under. "To think I trusted you just because you were blind-"

Yvonne was interrupted by a loud bang on the table, the yellow-haired women turned sharply on her heel to see another card facing her direction. She slowly approached the table until the image came into view.

On the card was a girl. A young, round, plump girl with glossy ginger hair and freckled covered skin. Unlike the girl in the previous card, her brown eyes stared up at Yvonne, her mouth hung in a snarl. Her limbs were torn, bones shattered and poking out of her skin like shards of glass.

"It hurt," the blind woman mumbled, her voice no longer her own, her voice twisted into the voice of a child gargling on blood. The woman stumbled up from her seat, her large frame swaying. "They wouldn't stop, bite by bite they hurt me-"

"Stop it-" Yvonne was cut off when the woman's eyes darted over to her like they could see through the mist that consumed them.

"You let them," the woman said through a gargle, a tiny drop of blood trickling from the sides of her crusty, thin lips. "It hurt!" the woman barked, throwing herself across the table so she was inches away from her face. Again and again, she repeated, like a repetitive drum. Blood started to stream from her eyes, coating her aging, blotchy skin until Yvonne let out a screech.

"Stop it she bellowed!" slamming her hand onto the desk, shutting her waterlogged, gold eyes shut. However, when she opened them, everything was back to normal. The psychic was now back in her seat, not a drop of blood on her, the guards seemed more concerned for Yvonne's safety than the events that just happened and when she looked at the card, it was the same girl from the chariot card hung upside down.

Without saying another word, Yvonne turned on her heel and headed for the door, her body shaking as she moved to the safety of the guards.

"Wait!" the psychic called as Yvonne stood in the doorway to her shop. The Gamemaker turned to the woman, her eyes wide with fear. "This gift you have...do not use it for this." Yvonne quickly shook her head and exited the shop. "Nothing good can come of this idea-" the woman's words fell on deaf ears, the thick, amber door bringing an end to the conversation and the reading.

* * *

Yvonne woke to the sound of a sharp, quick dripping. At first, as she awoke from the shallow slumber, her mind jumped to the sound of a tap. However, it was never the tap. It was the sound of something dripping on a hardwood floor.

As she did every night for the past year, she shot into a seated position, reaching for the lamp by the side of her bed. Yet, as the switch clicked, the lap sparked and popped, dying with a hiss and sending the woman once again into complete darkness.

Like a vacuum, the room fell silent, even the sound of Yvonne's own terrified sobs silent as the dripping bounced off the wall of her suite. With each drop, the sound morphed into water dripping into a puddle. However, she knew better by now, it was never water.

Like her body was controlled by someone else, her body started to turn towards the sound, even though she tried to run for the door. To change the chain of events that plagued her. Yet, as always, she turned slowly to the bathroom door.

The dim light from the colourful city outside the frosted window lit the large room up. The light shattering off the white bath that overflowed with a dark, thick liquid that flooded the tiled floor. The puddle spilled into a series of small footprints that lead away from the bath, out of the door and towards her closet at the corner of the room. A corner where the dripping sound had now been accompanied by the sound of choking, broken up by wild gasps for air.

Not responding to herself screaming to just go back to sleep or call her guard in, she turned towards the corner, her eyes falling on the small shape that stood, their face illuminated by the moonlight.

It was the face that followed her everywhere, even in the psychic shop. The torn, broken face of Sindy Turner. A twelve-year-old from District Nine that had died the previous year. Torn apart by mutts sent by Yvonne herself.

The girl still looked the same. Her bottom jaw was gone, the wound it left behind being jagged from the violent manner it was torn away. Her nose hung on by a strand of gristle and where her body wasn't broken or torn, she was soaked in blood.

She looked back at Yvonne with her brown eye, the one that had not been torn from its socket, looked at the woman who killed her. With an instance, her spluttering stopped as she cocked her head to the side to better look at the woman. Then, as expected she spoke. Asking the same question she asked the Gamemaker every night.

"Why?" She asked with a shriek, showering blood, coughed up from her torn throat onto Yvonne's face.

With a jerk, Yvonne awoke, in a well-lit room, the bathroom door closed and her room littered with guards. After a year of having the same nightmare every night, Yvonne has learned not to scream, her troubles being nothing more than a pain to the people who protected her. So with a sigh and watery eyes, she pushed herself up from her silk covers, placed a wooly gown over her body and moved over to her desk.

There she looked over the plans, rubbing tears and sleep from her eyes. She looked at the new additions to the blueprints, for the best considering they were due for hand in today. As she looked at the well formed text and made a few final wording adjustments. Once she was satisfied, she pulled free the post-it note about that year's twist. However, as her hand crushed the note, her eyes hovered on the Arena plans, her mind drifting to what the blind woman had said the day before.

About using her gifts to punish other people.

With a grunt, Yvonne pushed the thoughts to the back of her mind and threw the note in the bin.

She needed these Tributes to suffer the horrors of her life, just so she was no longer alone in this world.


End file.
